The next day, Lucien and Kamiko sit together in her room, bright and airy in the morning light, sunlight pouring through curtains drawn wide for once, the smoky, sensual haze from their first meeting nowhere in sight.
They're poring over a stack of documents thick enough to double as a footstool, each one detailing another layer of the trade agreement between her businesses and the Ashlands, ink still faintly wet on the most recent pages. A pot of tea sits cooling between them, entirely ignored in favor of clause after clause of tariff schedules and route allocations.
"We'll need permission from the Tribeland's Chieftain," Kamiko reminds him, "she controls the tribes, she'll want to know what we're up to. But with the Beast Mother's blessing, I doubt she'll be a hurdle. I'll send word."
"I leave it in your very capable claws." Lucien smiles.
They sign off on the last of it, clink glasses, and toast the deal properly.
